


The Price of Justice

by keerawa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s06e03 The Third Man, Gen, Redemption, Revenge, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-10
Updated: 2010-10-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:11:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keerawa/pseuds/keerawa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam has a little advice for the kid.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price of Justice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [spn_bitesized](http://spn-bitesized.dreamwidth.org/) Challenge of Three for [](http://elliemurasaki.livejournal.com/profile)[**elliemurasaki**](http://elliemurasaki.livejournal.com/)'s Price of Justice prompt. This is a 6x03 coda, completely Joss'ed by canon now.

Sam startled awake to a low whistling sound, silver knife in hand. He glanced over at his brother in the other bed. Dean was on his side, as if spooning someone smaller. His whole life, Dean had slept on his front. His snoring in this position sounded wrong.

For the past year, Sam had been sleeping on his own. Even when hunting with the Campbells, he’d gotten his own room, kept his distance. Sam had bad dreams sometimes. He never remembered what they were about. He didn’t know if he made any noise, if he thrashed around or said anything in his sleep. Dean could probably tell him. If he asked. Which he wouldn’t.

Sam turned on the lamp. Dean shifted onto his stomach, face turned away from the light. Sam snagged a piece of motel stationary and sat down at the table to write a letter.

* * *

  
Aaron –

I get it.

When my brother died, I didn’t stop until I made his killer pay. A lot of people got hurt on the way, and I lost … myself, I guess.

You might be thinking that it’s over, with them dead. That life will get better now, and you can go back to being who you were. It won’t, and you can’t.

All you can do is be there for your dad. Fake it, if you have to. And try to make things right. That’s all.

Sam

  


* * *

  
Four nights and 900 miles away, Aaron Birch sat in bed under a tent of his covers. His flashlight drifted from a letter on motel stationary across three newspaper articles about the dead officers, coming to a stop on a photo of two little girls standing by their father’s grave.

Aaron’s sobs shook his body, but he choked them quiet. Dad needed his sleep.


End file.
